Wheels (47 page)

He said, "We'll talk about it
.”

Erica shook her head.
When he came in, she was already in the guest room with the door locked.
That night for the first time since their marriage, they were in the
same house and slept apart.

Chapter
twenty

"Gimme the bad news," Smokey Stephensen told Lottie Potts, his bookkeeper.
"How much am I out of trust
.”

Lottie, who looked and frequently behaved like a female Uriah Heep, but
had a mind as sharp as razor blades, did quick arithmetic with a slim
gold pencil.
"Counting those cars we just delivered, Mr. Stephensen, sir, forty-three
thousand dollars
.”

"How much cash is in the bank, Lottie
.”

'We can meet the payroll this week and next, Mr. Stephensen, sir. Not
much more
.”

"Um
.”

Smokey Stephensen rubbed a hand over his heavy beard, then leaned
back, lacing his fingers over his belly which had grown larger lately;
he reminded himself, absently, that he must do something about his
weight soon, like going on a diet, though the thought depressed him.
Characteristically, Smokey was not alarmed about the financial crisis
in which, this morning, he suddenly found himself. He had weathered
others and would manage this one somehow. He pondered over Lottie's
figures, doing further mental calculations of his own.
The day was Tuesday, in the first week of August, and the two of them
were in Smokey's mezzanine office at the big suburban car dealership,
Smokey behind his desk, wearing the blue silk jacket and brightly
patterned tie which were like a uniform. Lottie, across from him, waited
deferentially, several accounting ledgers spread open around her.
Smokey thought: There weren't many women around nowadays with Lottie's
attitude. But then,

if nature snarled at you at birth, making you as ugly as Lottie, you had to
compensate in other ways. By God!-she was a dog. At thirty-five, or
thereabouts, she looked fifty, with her lumpish lopsided features, buck
teeth, the suggestion of a squint, nondescript all-direction hair, appearing
as if first grown on a coconut, a voice that grated like metal rims on
cobblestones . . . Smokey switched his thoughts away, reminding himself that
Lottie was utterly devoted, unquestionably loyal, unfailingly reliable, and
that together they had clambered out of scrapes he might never have survived
without her staff work.
Smokey had followed a dictum all his life: If you want a woman to stick
beside you, pick an ugly one. Pretty girls were a luxury, but fickle. Ugly
ones stayed to slice the meat and stir the gravy.
It was another ugly girl who had precipitated this morning's crisis.
Smokey was grateful that she had.
Her name was Yolanda and she had telephoned him at home late last night.
Yolanda worked for the downtown bank which Smokey dealt with, and which
financed his dealer's inventory of cars. She was a vice-president's
secretary, with access to confidential information.
Another thing about Yolanda was that stripped to bra and panties she
weighed two hundred pounds.
The moment Smokey had seen her, during a visit to the bank a year ago, he
sensed a potential ally. Subsequently he telephoned, invited Yolanda to
lunch and from that point let their friendship grow. Now, they met every
two months or so; in between he sent her flowers, or candy which she
devoured by the pound, and twice Smokey had taken her overnight to a
motel. The latter occasions he preferred not to think about too much, but Yolanda-who had few such
experiences come her way-remained pathetically grateful, a gratitude she
repaid with periodic and useful intelligence from the bank.
"Our adjusters are planning some surprise dealer stock audits," she
advised him on the phone last night. "I thought you'd want to know-your
name is on the list
.”

He had asked, instantly alert, "When do the audits start
.”

"First thing tomorrow, though no one's supposed to know
.”

Yolanda added,
"I couldn't call sooner because I've been working late and didn't think
I should use an office phone
.”

"You're a bright kid. How long's the list
.”

'Eight dealers are on it. I copied the names. Shall I read them
.”

He blessed her thoroughness. "Please, baby
.”

Smokey was relieved to find his own name last but one. If the adjusters
took the names in order, which was normal, it meant they wouldn't get to
him until three days from now. So he had two days to work with, which
wasn't much, but better than having a snap audit pulled tomorrow. He noted
the other dealers' names. Three were acquaintances whom he would tip off;
some other time they might repay the favor.
He told Yolanda, "You're a sweet kid to call me. We haven't seen enough
of each other lately
.”

They ended with exchanges of affection, and Smokey sensed this was going
to cost him another night at the motel, but it was worth it.
Next morning, early, he summoned Lottie, whom he also obliged in basic
ways occasionally, but who never, at any time, failed to call him "Mr.
Stephensen, sir
.”

Her report-that the Stephensen dealership was seriously
out of trust
resulted.
"Out of trust
meant that Smokey had sold cars, but had not turned the
proceeds over to the bank which loaned him the money to buy them to begin
with. The cars were the bank's security against its loan; therefore, since
it had not been informed otherwise, the bank believed the cars were still
safely in Smokey's inventory. In fact, forty-three thousand dollars worth
of cars was gone.
Some sales had been reported to the bank over the past few weeks, but by
no means all, and an audit of the dealership's stock-which banks and
finance companies insisted on periodically
would reveal the deficiency.
The ex-race driver ruminated as he rubbed his beard again.
Smokey knew, as did all auto dealers, that it was normal for a dealership
to be out of trust occasionally, and sometimes necessary. The trick was
not to go too far, and not to get caught.
A reason for the problem was that car dealers had to find cash for each
new car they took into stock, usually borrowing from banks or finance
companies. But sometimes borrowing was not enough. A dealer's cash might
be short, yet cash was needed-to pay for still more cars if the immediate
sales outlook was good, or to meet expenses.
What dealers did, of course, was go slow in processing their paper work
after any sale was consummated. Thus, a dealer might receive payment from
a customer who bought a car, then subsequently the dealer would take a
leisurely week or so to report the sale to his own creditors, the bank or
finance company. During that time the dealer had the use of the money
involved. Furthermore, at the end of it there would be more sales
overlapping, which in turn could be processed slowly, so the dealer could
use-again temporarily-the mon
e
y from those. In a way, it was like a juggling act.
Banks and finance companies knew the juggling went on and-within
reason-condoned it by allowing dealers to be briefly, if unofficially 11
out of trust
.”

They were unlikely, however, to tolerate an out-of-trust
figure as large as Smokey's was at this moment.
Smokey Stephensen said softly, "Lottie, we gotta get some cars back in
stock before those audit guys get here
.”

"I thought you'd say that, Mr. Stephensen, sir, so I made a list
.”

The
bookkeeper passed two clipped sheets across the desk. "These are all our
customer deliveries for the past two weeks
.”

"Good girl!
" Smokey scanned the list, noting approvingly that Lottie had
included an address and telephone number against each name, as well as
noting the model of car purchased and its price. He began ticking
addresses which were reasonably near.
"We'll both get on the phone," Smokey said. "I've marked fourteen names
to start. I'll take the top seven; you call the others. We need cars tomorrow morning, early. You know what to say
.”

"Yes, Mr. Stephensen, sir
.”

Lottie, who had been through this before, was
copying Smokey's notations on a duplicate list of her own. She would do
her telephoning from the downstairs cubicle where she worked.
When Lottie had gone, Smokey Stephensen dialed the first number on his
list. A pleasant female voice answered, and he identified himself.
"Just called," Smokey announced in his most mellifluous salesman's style,
"to see how you good folks are enjoying that new car we had the privilege
of selling you
.”

"We like it
.”

The woman sounded surprised. "Why? Is anything wrong
.”

"Nothing in the least wrong, ma'am. I'm simply making a personal check,
the way I do with all my customers, to make sure everybody's happy.
That's the way I run my business
.”

"Well," the woman said, "I guess it's a good way. Not many people seem
to care that much nowadays
.”

"We care
.”

Smokey had a cigar going by now; his feet were on the desk,
chair tilted back. "All of us here care very much indeed. And about
that, I have a suggestion for you
.”

"Yes
.”

"Now that you've given your car some initial use, why not run it in to
us tomorrow, let our service department give it a thorough check. That
way we can see if anything wrong has shown up, as well as adjust
anything else that's needed
.”

"But we've had the car less than a week .
"All the more reason," Smokey said expansively, "for making sure
everything's in tiptop shape. We'd like to do it for you; we really
would. And there'll be no charge
.”

"You're certainly a different kind of car dealer," the woman on the
phone said.
"I'd like to think that, ma'am. In any case, it's kind of you to say
so.
They arranged that the car would be brought to the service department
by eight o'clock the following morning. Smokey explained he wanted to
allot one of his best mechanics to the job, and this would be easier if
the car came early. The woman's husband, who usually drove to his
office downtown, would either ride with someone else or take a bus.
Smokey made another call with similar results. With the two after that,
he met resistance
tomorrow would not be convenient to release the cars;
sensing firmness, he didn't press the point.
Making the fifth call he revised his tactics, though for no particular
reason except as a change.
"We're not absolutely certain," Smokey informed the car's owner-a man
who answered the telephone himself-"but we think your new car may have
a defect. Frankly, I'm embarrassed to have to call you, but the way we
feel about our customers, we don't like to take the slightest chance
.”

"No need to be embarrassed," the man said. "I'm glad you did call.
What's the trouble
.”

'We believe there may be a small exhaust leak, with carbon monoxide
seeping into the passenger compartment. You or your passengers wouldn't
smell it, but it might be dangerous. To be honest, it's something we've
discovered on a couple of cars we received from the factory this week,
and we're checking all others we've had recently to be on the safe side.
I hat
e to admit it, but it looks as i
f there may have been a minor
factory error
.”